


Livy Larson

by RandomWordsAndStormyDays



Series: Random's Fallout OCs [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-12-01 20:02:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomWordsAndStormyDays/pseuds/RandomWordsAndStormyDays
Summary: This is my collection of one-shots and ficlets for my OC Livy. Details about each chapter will be at the beginning.





	1. The One Where Livy Loses Her Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Livy learns a shocking fact about her father, and then loses him forever.

As the stone path that marks her home comes into view a vague sense of wrongness slides down Livy’s spine. It sends a shiver across her body and she picks up her pace, being extra careful to scan for the ferals that are attracted to this area. Her eyes dart back and forth quickly, soaking in details of her homestead. All seems to be in order and her shoulders drop, tension sliding out of them.

She’s about to call out for her father, to let him know that she’s home safe, when a man materializes out of thin air, surrounded by a bright blue light. Her arm comes up to block the brightness from her eyes and by the time she lowers it the figure is gone, and the front door to her house is swinging shut.

What the fuck?

Immediately, she shifts on her heel and takes off for the side of her house, where the windows will give her a view into the rooms on the first floor. As she approaches she can hear voices, one of which she recognizes as her father’s, the other she cannot identify. Her grip tightens on her pistol as she hears the fear in her dad’s voice. Never has he sounded like that before.

“What are you doing here?” It’s impossible for her to even picture the look that her dad must be wearing, the uncertainty that must be in his eyes. It seems like he knows this man, but is scared of him just the same.

“F3-27, your mission has been terminated. You are to report back to Dr. Ayo for memory wiping and relocation.”

Livy’s heart skips a beat from inside her chest at the implication that the strange man inside her home has just made. Her father is a synth? That’s what that string of letters and numbers mean, right?

“No, that’s not right. I’ve only been here a year.”

Blood pounds in Livy’s ears as the confirmation worms its way into her heart. Her dad was replaced by a synth copy a year ago. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

Her whole life her father had been distant and cold, only doing the bare minimum to keep her alive. Nothing she did was ever good enough for him, and it was clear to her that he only stayed out of loyalty to her dead mother. It was hard for her to blame him, according to their neighbors she was nearly identical to the woman that had birthed her, and she was positive that the physical reminder she presented is what kept him from being the dad she needed him to be. Still, it hurt.

Even though she knew that nothing she ever did would be enough, she still tried. Every task she was given, she mastered, her attempt at pleasing him. No one she knew could match her skills with a pistol, and she was an expert shot with a rifle. Any random assortment of food items could be dropped in her lap and she could cook them into something delicious. She trained herself to be observant, not wanting to miss out on any scrap or supplies because they might be hidden from plain view. The caravaners were so impressed with her sewing that they often paid her extra caps to fix up garments anytime they came by, so that they could sell them for more money later on down the line. Over and over again she proved that she was the best at any task she could be given.

Still, he never thanked her for her hard work, never smiled at her like she belonged, never once did he say that he was proud of her.

Then, one day, it all changed. Her father had left three days prior for a trip to Bunker Hill, and when he came home, he was a different man. The door swung open when she was halfway through cooking dinner, but she still turned to welcome him, even though she knew that she was more likely to get ignored than to be acknowledged. She dropped the bowl she was carrying in shock when he smiled at her.

The glass shattering jolted her out of her staring and she dropped to the floor, apologizing for her clumsiness. When her father knelt down next to her and began to help her pick up the pieces she froze, unable to move. She watched, brows drawn tightly downwards and mouth partially open, as he gently pried the glass off the floor and then took the large shards from her own palms. Her body had not moved an inch by the time he returned from the trashcan and he looked down at her. She recognized confusion in the tilt of his head and the raise of his brow, she had seen that look before, but etched into his cheeks and eyes was also the presence of amusement.

“Livy, what are you doing on the floor, still?” Before she could answer his face shifted into one of concern. “Are you hurt? Did any of the glass cut you?” He dropped to his knees in front of her and took her writs gently in his hands before turning them over to look for injury.

She can’t recall the last time her father actually touched her. Her muscles begin to thaw as he inspected her for any cuts, and by the time he was done her limbs were working normally again.

“No, I’m not hurt. Just shocked is all.” He allowed her to pull back and stand up, didn’t try and stop her at all. That answer must satisfy him because he stood and began to clear the table so she turned back to the pot of food and continued stirring.

“As long as you’re okay, that’s what matters.” From behind her she heard him take in a deep breath. “What is that? It smells amazing.”

Her voice wavered a bit when she answered. “It’s ragstag stew with tatos, carrots, and some mutfruit.” His response is little more than a humming sound, but for some reason it brought a smile onto her face.

From that night on, he was the father she had always dreamed of. He complimented her abilities, thanked her for everything she did around the home, and told her at least once a week how proud of her he was. It was everything she ever wanted.

Now, a year later, she knows exactly why, because the man that came home that day wasn’t her father.

The strange man’s voice jerks her out of her memories. “Your presence here is no longer required. You will comply, or I will use your recall code.”

“Please, please just let me say goodbye to my daughter.” The pleading tone has tears springing into her eyes. It doesn’t matter that he’s not her biological father, he was a parent to her in all the ways that mattered. So what if he’s a synth? The man in there pleading to say goodbye to her is her dad, no matter what anyone else says. She has to find a way to save him.

As she sneaks along the wall towards her back door the conversation continues. “That girl is not your daughter, you are not her father. In fact, you are not even a real person.”

Anger bubbles up from inside her, fuck that guy, what does he know?

“She’ll worry if I’m gone, at least let me write her a note, something, anything.”

The desperation she senses is foreign and it scares her, because he’s right. If she had come home and he was gone, no note, no letter, no holotape, she would worry. That worry would have turned to panic if he didn’t come home that night. Her panic would turn to desperation when he didn’t come home for a few days. And when he didn’t come home after a week she would have taken off to go find him, completely unaware that her search would have been useless, since he had been taken.

The backdoor has a screen, and through it she can finally see what’s going on. Her father is dressed in his field clothes, covered in dirt and on his knees, facing her. His eyes don’t drop down to look at her, though, his focus is fully on the other man in the room. Her heart pounds a little harder and a lot faster when she takes in the intruder.

He has to be at least six feet tall, broad shoulders betray the muscles that she can tell are hidden under his heavy leather jacket, and his hands do not waver in the slightest as they hold a laser pistol, which is pointed directly at her dad.

“That is not authorized. This is your final chance, comply or be reset.”

Her hand is on the doorknob, ready to turn it, ready to risk her life and try and fight this stranger, when she finally makes eye contact with the synth that replaced her father. She can see his fear heighten, and she feels tears prick behind her vision. It clicks then that he’s not scared for himself, he’s scared for her.

It’s easy for her to see the moment he gives up. His eyes dart away from hers, shame the last thing she sees in them, the tightness in his posture fades away until he’s slumped in on himself, head lowered in defeat, and his voice is broken when he speaks.

“I’ll comply.”

Adrenaline courses through Livy’s body, she has to do something, has to stop this. She won’t let him be taken. The door hits the wall with a crack so loud it continues to ring in her ears even as she stands to her full height and aims her pistol at the man. She can hear her dad’s shouts of protest but they fall on deaf ears. Time seems to slow for her as she fires her weapon. Three shots that make three direct hits to the chest.

Fear overtakes her when the man doesn’t react, like he doesn’t even feel the bullets.

“Livy, run. He’ll kill you.” Her father’s desperate cries reach her, but they’re too late. There’s no time for her to escape, because the man is already on her.

The gun is knocked from her hands before she can even attempt to fire again, and it clatters on the floor out of her view. The pistol is the least of her worries, though, because in that same second her oxygen is cut off as the man’s hands wrap around her throat and begin to squeeze. The sound she makes rings in her ears and reminds her of a wounded animal, scared and full of fear. In the next second she’s flying, airborne and weightless, until her back strikes the wall, followed closely by her skull. She hits the floor hard and feels her ribs break.

It takes everything she has in her to try and stand, but she slips on her own blood and crashes back to the ground. She looks up and sees the laser pistol pointing at her face, and realizes that she’s going to die. Her eyes close involuntarily, possibly her brain’s way of protecting her in the only way that it can, then she hears a gun go off.

When she opens her eyes she’s disgusted to see that the man’s head is half blown off, but she’s horrified upon the realization that he’s still not dead. What the hell is this guy, another synth?

“Get the hell away from my daughter.” Her dad’s voice brings comfort, but it doesn’t last long. The man, who she is now fully convinced is another synth, turns away from her. Her dad is standing, holding her gun, but looking at her. There’s sorrow written all over his expression, and dizziness is beginning to wash over her.

Instead of charging at her father, like she expected, the synth begins to speak, lowly but also clearly and calmly. “F3-27, recall code-”

Livy doesn’t hear the rest, too focused on the words that her father is mouthing.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Then, he slumps over. His head lowers down and his arms drop the gun, they fall next to his body like when the strings of a puppet get cut. He doesn’t breathe, he no longer looks alive.

“Dad?” Her voice is wrecked, mostly from the damage done to her throat, but also from the tears that are building. “Dad?” He doesn’t answer, and neither does the invader. Her calls and cries are ignored, her pleading is not answered. She is helpless, lying on the floor in her own blood, bleeding and broken, as another flash of blue light fills her home. When her eyes adjust she is alone. The darkness calls for her, and she falls into it.


	2. The One Where Livy Joins The Railroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter we follow Livy as she locates the Railroad and becomes a member.

The donut shop looks unsuspecting enough that Livy doubts the validity of the information she was given. Is it really possible that the Railroad is hidden inside such a small building, with little to no protection and a crumbling roof? The holotape that was left in her kitchen two weeks ago seems to imply just that.

After her father was recalled and she was beat all to hell by his captor, she spent the next few days mending her injuries and licking her wounds. It wasn’t just the snapped ribs and shattered nose, her heart was broke and her reality had disintegrated. Her whole life people had been terrified of synth, of family members being replaced, but she never expected it to happen to her. And if it did happen to her she never thought that she would prefer the replacement to her own family. Except, that’s exactly what happened. Her father was replaced, and the synth that filled his shoes was loving, kind, and a better man than her real dad had ever been. She loved him, no matter how he came into her life, what his goal was or his intentions, he made her feel like she belonged, finally.

So, she was going to fight tooth and nail to bring down the people that took him from her.

But Livy didn’t know where to start, she couldn’t go to her neighbors, they wouldn’t understand, and it’s not like she had any friends, at least none that were close enough to her for her to confide in. She was at an impasse.

Then, one morning she came home from hunting, and found a single solitary holotape on her table. It was a woman, speaking about synths and how the Railroad seeks to help them. How the Railroad needs recruits, dedicated to the cause.

Which is how she winds up on the roof of a building, looking down through her scope into the broken shell of a pre-war donut shop. Which she still isn’t convinced is actually the Railroad HQ. It took her two weeks of listening to the tape over and over again, analyzing the clues written between the lines, to work up the nerve to hunt them down.

Livy shifts the rifle in her hands, using her position to scout the area again. No mines, no turrets, no guards, nothing that would imply that this building is used for anything except the occasional sleeping spot for a passing squatter. No one has entered or exited the building in the two hours that she’s been waiting, and she fears it’s a trap. She worries that the man who took her dad from her is waiting inside the shop, ready to finish the job. It’s not irrational, her thinking, and while it might have been easier to just return to her house and kill her, and it definitely would have been easier to take her out when she was collapsed in a pool of her own blood, she still worries that this is where she meets her end. This fear is what caused her to go to extreme lengths to implement protective measures around her house, inside and out, no one is getting in there without taking some heavy damage.

Except whoever left her that damn holotape.

Even if it is possible, she’s pretty sure that no one is waiting to kill her, and yet she finds herself filled with a nervous energy. When she walks inside, will the Railroad really be waiting for her, or is this all some pathetic, horrible prank? A couple of terrible people who know of her pain and want to use it for their own entertainment? She doesn’t know.

Her hands are sweaty and she wipes them on her jacket, she can’t keep waiting on this roof. They knew about her situation, which means they probably know she’s there. It’s obvious that they’re not going to come to her, she has to prove that this is what she wants, that this is where she wants to be. It’s more likely than not a test of not only her deduction and survival skills, but her loyalty to the cause.

She begins her walk off the roof.

As she approaches the shop she sees that it’s just as deserted on the inside as it looks on the outside. There’s no signs of a secret organization, although, she muses, that’s probably the point. She sweeps through each room, looking for another hint or clue that she’s in the right spot. Nothing sticks out to her in the main room, but she does pocket a few caps she finds kicked under the counter. The top floor is a mess of water and radiation damage, and even if there was a sign or note there at one point, she doesn’t see anything now. It’s not until she walks down the stairs, into what looks like an old kitchen area, that a light catches her eye.

Upon further inspection the small, red light is connected to a camera, which is pointed directly at the staircase leading down. The camera itself isn’t something she would normally look twice at, but the red light indicates that the camera actually works, and that is rare and unusual. It’s her best option.

She approaches the camera slowly and then squats down so she can look right into the lense. Nothing happens, so she pulls out the holotape and holds it up. “This was left on my kitchen table two weeks ago. I followed the clues left inside looking for the Railroad,” she pauses, hopes that the camera also has a microphone, otherwise she’s talking to herself, “my name is Olivia Larson and my father was a synth. He was taken, and I want to help fight the people who took him.” She knows she sounds a little pathetic, a little girl missing her dad, but without that pain there’s no reason for her to be there, talking into a camera, hoping against hope that there’s a secret organization watching her and sensing her genuine desires.

Minutes tick by and nothing happens, she tries not to let her disappointment show. The Railroad either isn’t here, or she failed their tests, either way all she has left is to go home. Her knee pops when she stands, a leftover symptom of her attack, but the pain hardly registers over the sadness that is slowly sweeping over her. She leaves the holotape next to the camera, they’re pretty rare and she figures that, even if they don’t want her, they might want their recruitment tape back. Right as she goes to head back up the stairs a noise makes her pause. As she looks over her shoulder she sees the wall behind her shift. Right before her eyes a door begins to form, sliding out from the wall like a magic trick.

A hidden door for a hidden organization. How clever.

Livy waits for someone to appear, but no one does, and she decides that she’s done waiting. The door opens easily once she gets a good grip on it, and cool air blows out from the cracks. The wall opens up into an elevator and she steps inside, no room for hesitation or fear. None of the buttons work when she presses them, but the elevator begins to go down anyways, taking her into the earth. It’s a long ride, and by the time she reaches the bottom her heart is pounding fast and her mouth feels dry. It’s the moment of truth.

The elevator doors open with a harsh grinding sound, exposing a metal catwalk and an open room with cinderblock walls. Just as she goes to exit a figure appears and instinctively she raises her pistol to aim at the man’s head.

He raises his hands in a defensive posture, eyes wide in shock. “Woah there! I’m not gonna hurt you.” Her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes him.

He’s an average looking guy, brown hair and eyes, blue jacket and dark red newsboy cap. He doesn’t have a weapon that she can see, and he looks genuinely nervous to have a gun in his face. Not exactly the secret agent type.

She lowers the gun, but keeps it ready. “Are you the Railroad?”

He smiles at her and something about the way he stands, open and vulnerable, relaxes her. “Not just me, but we’ll get into all that in a minute,” he holds out his hand and she grabs it for a handshake, “my name is Drummerboy, I’m here to escort you inside.”

When his grip falls she notices that he’s got a bandana in his other hand. “You’re going to blindfold me, aren’t you?”

Drummerboy shrugs. “Sorry about this, but you’re not an agent yet, and secrecy is what keeps us alive. You understand.”

She takes the material in her hands and winds it slowly around her face. “If you do anything weird or gross I will put a bullet in you.”

His laugh is low but sweet. “I honestly wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As Livy is led through the compound she’s not at all surprised when she’s walked forwards, backwards, in circles, and at one point she thinks she zigzags. They don’t want her to memorize the layout yet, and she gets it, doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel a little sick when she gets spun around quickly. Before too long, however, she guided into a chair and her blindfold is removed.

When her eyes adjust she sees a group of people sitting across the table in front of her. There’s a man in a white shirt with his feet on the table, leaning back in a chair, wearing sunglasses. Next to him is another man, dressed in a doctor’s off-white lab coat and wearing what appears to be a permanent scowl. Seated next to him is a woman with red hair, a yellow scarf, and a curious look. She’s smoking a cigarette. Lastly, the man who met her at the elevator.

They all seem to be staring at her and it makes her nervous. Sunglasses man speaks first.

“So, Olivia-”

She interrupts him. “Livy, no one calls me Olivia.”

There’s no pause as he continues, “Livy then, we’re the Railroad, sorry about the not-so-warm-welcome, but hey, you seem like you made it just fine.”

The doctor rolls his eyes. “Deacon, be quiet. Your only role is to tell us if what she says it the truth, not provide commentary and an orientation.”

“Both of you, hush,” the red headed woman looks to Livy after sending the two men on her right a glare, “my name is Desdemona, you’ve already met Drummerboy, Doctor Carrington is next to me, and Deacon is on the end.”

“That’s a lot of D names. Was that planned?”

Right after the question leaves her mouth she finds herself mortified. Not exactly the best thing to say to the people who are in charge of her future with the Railroad. Desdemona looks shocked, Drummerboy seems to be amused, the doctor looks annoyed, but Deacon burst out into laughter, swings his legs down to the floor, and braces himself on the table.

“I like her,” he turns his head to the left, “can we keep her?”

The annoyed looks he gets don’t seem to affect Deacon, who simply wipes at fake laughter tears and goes back to leaning dangerously in his seat. Everyone looks back at her.

Carrington speaks. “No, that was not intentional. However, our names are not the concern right now. You are.” His eyes are judgemental, and his words are stiff. “You need to answer our questions, if you make it past that we will make you a temporary agent, if you prove yourself capable we will look into instating you full-time.”

She nods her understanding.

“Tell us why you want to join the Railroad.”

Starting with the hard questions first. Okay, she can do that. It’s clear they already know the answer, but she tells them anyways. As she speaks she can feel herself shaking, both anger and sadness mixing inside of her as she recounts the horrors she witnessed. When she goes to describe her father after the synth spoke a strange phrase she has to pause and collect herself. No need to talk through tears. By the end, the room is silent and Livy reaches up to swipe at her cheeks. The tears steak across her face and she wipes them on her pants.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” It’s Drummerboy who addresses her.

“Yeah,” she huffs a laugh out from her nose, “me too. Can we just keep going?”

Doctor Carrington nods and continues. All four of them ask her questions ranging from things that make sense like ‘would you risk your life for a synth’ - yes she would - to one’s with less than obvious reasoning like ‘what’s your favorite bar in the Commonwealth’ - The Dugout - and by the end she’s tired, ready for a nap, or maybe some lunch, and the four people across from her have agreed that she can stay.

Deacon and Carrington leave the room and she left with Desdemona and Drummerboy, he smiles at her as Des strikes up another conversation.

“You need a codename. They keep us safe and keeps your life with the Railroad separate from your life in the Commonwealth.”

“Do I have to come up with it now?”

The woman shakes her head. “No, but you need one before you can start running missions. When you think of it, tell Drummer.” With that she leaves.

Drummerboy turns to her and gestures towards the door. “Let’s get you some food and then I’ll show you to your bunk.” She follows him eagerly.

A few hours later as she’s digging through the Railroad resources she comes across a book of pre-war birds, it’s simple enough so she begins to read. There’s a passage about one of them that catches her eye.

“Birds in the Corvid family are known for their intelligence. In fact, many species have been known to remember human faces, especially the ones of those that have done them harm. They will pass on this information to other members of their flock and use their combined numbers to protect themselves.”

“Not only are Corvids known for their intelligence, they are also extremely loyal. They form bonds with their flock and most mate for life. They are aggressive supportive of their families, going so far as to put themselves in harm’s way in order to protect members of their flock.”

She’s reading when Drummerboy takes a seat next to her on her bunk.

“Have you thought of a codename yet?”

Livy thinks for a moment before closing the book and smirking. “Yeah, I have,” she’s sure her eyes are lit up with mischief, “you can call me Crow.”

He reaches up to squeeze her shoulder, a friendly gesture that makes her feel welcomed. “Welcome to the Railroad, Crow. We’re excited to have you.”

“Thanks Drummer, I’m excited to be here.”


	3. The One Where Livy And Drummer Boy Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little alcohol, a hunt for snacks, and a sweet ending. We follow Livy as she and Drummer Boy get closer than ever before.

The first month of Livy’s tour with the Railroad is a whirlwind of information. Between learning the eight different secret codes, memorizing dead drop schedules, discovering all the safehouses, and being taught how to handle a scared and traumatized synth, she’s at the end of her rope. Her only break is when Drummer pulls her out of her lessons in order to take her on a dead drop run, and she treasures these brief recesses.

Today’s run is a little different.

Just this morning Drummer had pulled her aside to inform her that the dead drop mission today was going to be her first solo one. His recommendation had gone up to Carrington and Desdemona, and they agreed that she was ready to run a small op by herself. She had argued, stating that she wasn’t even done with her training yet, but Drummer had shut her down, replying that she was miles ahead of their other trainees, some who had gotten there way before her.

Now, she’s just down the street from HQ, trying to steady her breathing as she heads towards her drop, coded message hidden in her backpack. The desire to not fuck this up is overpowering, and Livy is having a hard time fousing. What if she fails? What if her incompetence leads to her people getting hurt, synths getting lost, or - god forbid - the location of their headquarters getting discovered. It’s a lot of pressure, and she wishes that Drummer Boy was with her. He’s always been a comforting presence on runs, letting her take the lead but also allowing her to fall back on his experience if she needs it. It also probably doesn’t help that she’s developed a bit of a crush on him.

She knew that her first solo mission was coming soon, but somewhere in the back of her mind she had hoped that it never would. That maybe she could partner with DB. The issue with that is that runners don’t get partners, they run solo, both to minimize the likelihood of discovery and to allow them more people to run more messages. Plus fraternization between agents is a big no-no, so she’d have to hide her feelings. Eventually, no matter how hard she works, or the accomplishments she achieves, she’ll always be alone.

That train of thought does nothing to help calm her fraying nerves, so she shakes it from her mind and pushes forward, gun held tightly and the perfect image of calmness plastered on her face.

When she returns to HQ, she’s almost disappointed. The road she traveled was clear the entire time, no enemies or wild animals to contend with, and she spent most of her journey bored and, again, wishing that DB had been with her. However, as she steps off the elevator and into the backmost room of the Switchboard she’s surprised to see Bluebell and Drummer waiting for her.

“Welcome back, Crow! We got word from Mercer that the dead drop was received.” Bluebell wraps her in a hug and squeeze a little too tight, forcing her breath from her lungs.

“Jeez, Bell, she made it back alive don’t kill her now.” Drummer teases. That startles a weak squealing of air out of her, which turns into a real laugh when the death grip around her torso is released.

“Thank Drummer, who knows what kind of damage Bell could do with one of her hugs.” Livy rubs her ribs, half as a joke and half not.

The other girl smiles at her fondly before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steering her deeper into the building. “As a ‘good job’ Desdemona has approved a night-off, how do you feel about 200 year old whiskey?”

Livy grins, already eager to take a break. “As long as it’s gonna get me drunk I don’t care how old it is.”

Drummer seconds her statement as he trails behind them. “Let the drinking begin.”

An hour and a half later Livy is beginning to realize that her fourth shot should have been her last, but the whiskey was spiced, and had hardly even tasted like alcohol on the way down. So, she had five, then six, and now seven shots in the room is a little spiny and she’s craving fancy lads.

Most everyone ignores her as she moves from the designated celebration room and unsteadily makes her way down the hall towards the kitchen, and the ones that do see her merely ask her to bring them snacks back. Half way down the hall their requests have been forgotten, she’s too busy making sure she doesn’t get lost maneuvering down the winding halls to remember who wanted what. She’ll just grab a bunch of shit. Lucky for her the door is unlocked, so she doesn’t have to try and find the key. Before long the center table is piled high with a mismatch of food and drink items, but she still hasn’t found any snack cakes.

She spots a chair and a poorly planned idea begins to form. With the alcohol guiding her she drags the chair over to the cabinets and begins to climb, one shaky foot at a time. Her hand is wrapping around the handle to the highest cabinet when the door swings open behind her. Without thinking, she turns quickly to see who has caught her. Her swinging motion causes her delicately balanced body to lose its equilibrium, and there’s nothing she can do to stop herself from tumbling to the ground.

She never actually hits the ground, instead she collapses into a body, one that catches her before she can kill herself on the harsh concrete. They’re a tangle of limbs until her savior manages to maneuver her onto her own feet, and she looks up to see a very concerned Drummer boy staring down at her. Heat blooms across her cheeks and she ducks her head, grateful for her long hair that covers the embarrassment.

“Are you okay?”

Livy nods, making herself dizzy, before she pushes out of his arms and steadies herself. “Just peachy, DB.” She turns away from him and begins to climb back up on the chair. A hand on her shoulder stops her advancement. It’s impossible for her to suppress the shiver that runs through her body from the contact.

“What are you doing, Crow? You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

She huffs, in the way that only a drunken person who’s being told no can, before relenting to him. “I need snack cakes.”

He glances at the table covered in food before looking back at her. “If you’re here for snack cakes then who is all that for?”

“I can’t remember,” she shrugs, “Bluebell wanted something, so did Deacon, and Professor, but I can’t recall who wanted what.”

“So your plan was to bring the whole pantry,” Livy nods, “okay, how about you sit in this chair, I’ll get you some fancy lad’s, and then we can take these snacks back together?”

That’s a satisfactory plan for her, so she takes her seat, spinning it around so she can watch him. He’s much less drunk than her, obvious by the way he moves, but still he has trouble getting to her treat. For a few seconds she zones out, merely watching as he moves, allowing herself a moment to stare. By the time he’s got the package down she’s tapping her foot on the ground and licking her lips. As soon as his feet are back on the floor, Livy hops up and grabs the food from him. Drummer laughs as she shoves an entire cake into her mouth.

“Good god, Crow, breath for me, would you?” Her mouth is still full when she replies. Instead of asking her to repeat Drummer Boy rolls his eyes and takes a seat in the chair, “I’m not nearly as drunk as you are, but that still made me kind of dizzy.”

Livy would laugh if she could, and without replying she hops up onto the counter to rest. They both sit for a while, enjoying their food, before Drummer speaks. “So, it’s basically against all etiquette rules and protocol, but I was hoping you’d answer a question for me.”

“I don’t much care for half the rules we’re supposed to follow, go ahead.”

He hesitates one more time, swallows roughly, licks his lips, and then goes, “why did you join the Railroad?”

The question shocks her, because if she’s being honest, she’s tried very hard not to discuss her father or her circumstances with anyone since her initial questioning, and she figured he already knew. She voices this to him, and he goes on to explain that recruitment isn’t really his job. He just shows the new kids around HQ and gets them through orientation and job assignment. Plus, an agent’s recruitment reason is something private, that most people don’t share. It’s maybe the one topic agents don’t gossip about, too many deep cut wounds that never healed properly could be torn open from that line of questioning, and a general consensus not to discuss it became an unspoken rule. He never wanted to violate her privacy by trying to find out without her permission.

His response makes sense, and even though she knows it will hurt, she finds herself wanting to talk about her dad. Not just what he was and what had happened to him, but everything he did for her. So she does. Through tears and with a wobbly voice Livy tells him about her father, before and after he was replaced. It’s more difficult for her to discuss his capture, but she stumbles through it.

“I’m impressed, you took on a Courser and didn’t die. Not a lot of people can say that.”

She shrugs, not impressed with herself. “I would rather that I killed him, then I could say that I took on a Courser and that I saved my dad.”

“Then you might not have even joined us.” His statement is true, and not one she had every really considered before. She likes what she does, even if every mission she runs could be her last. Helping makes her feel like she’s making a difference, like the dead drops she helps deliver are letting agents rescuce synths, like her dad, and get them away from the people who only wish to do them harm. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss him.

“Maybe,” her hand comes away wet when she wipes at her cheek, “anyways, enough about me, how did you join?”

He smiles and shrugs. “By accident, if you can believe it.” Livy listens as Drummer Boy begins to describe how he joined. It’s funny to her that his introduction to the Railroad was an accident, purely him being in the right place at the right time to assist on a rescue mission. “Watz, one of our heavies, let me help out, but didn’t tell me that the settler he was rescuing was actually an escaped synth.”

The sound of him opening a Nuka Cola opening startles her, and he smiles at her before taking a sip and then continuing. “Afterwards he asked me how I felt about helping people, and then he asked me if I thought synths were people. Obviously, you know my answers since I’m here.”

She considers his story for a moment before asking, “why do you care so much about helping if you have no personal connection to synths?”

“At first it was just something to do, it gave me a purpose beyond just drifting from place to place, looking for where I belonged,” he stares into his bottle, like it could comfort him, when he looks back at Livy he seems both happy and sad, “but now everyone here is family, I’d die for any one of the agents here, any one of the synths.”

“I know how you feel,” she admits, “at first I just wanted to avenge my father, but now, I can’t imagine not being here with everyone. You guys are my new family.” Suddenly a wave a guilt passes over her and she jumps off the counter, tears threatening to spill. She speaks in a rush. “Not that I don’t still miss my dad, or consider him family,” Drummer stands and steadies her with a hand on her arm, “it just… it hurts less seeing people that care, and are willing to help.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know you miss him, we’re not trying to replace the family you had.”

Livy leans into him and rest her head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Drummer, for everything,” not being able to see his face makes her less nervous to say what she wants to say, “you’ve been the metaphorical wind beneath my wings this whole time and I’m not sure I could do this without you.”

His arms come up to hold her in place. “You’ve done most of everything on your own. You’re pretty amazing, Crow. It seems like everyday you impress me with something new.”

“You’re the impressive one, the work you put in everyday to keep this group alive.” Feeling a little flirtatious, possibly a mixture of the whiskey she had to drink and being so close to him, she leans back to look him in the face. “Plus I mean, c’mon, you’re pretty impressive to look at, too.”

Livy has to stifle a giggle as shock passes over his features, and finds herself amused. He stutters with his response for a few seconds, fumbling over his words. Eventually he settles on the less-than-eloquent, “you too.”

That has her pulling away just far enough to burst into laughter and before she knows it Drummer has dissolved into his own case of the giggles. She laughs until her sides hurt and by the time she’s done she feels lighter, less likely to crumble under the weight of her new responsibilities. Drummer Boy also manages to contain his laughter and she stills when he reaches up with one hand to brush her hair back.

Before he even starts to lean in Livy closes her eyes, letting him set the pace. When their lips finally meet there are no fireworks, no ringing bells. Instead an overwhelming sense of familiarity and comfort washes over her. She turns into him, letting him mold their half embrace into a full one, and finds that she’s happy, really happy, for the first time since the Courser came for her father.

It’s a quick kiss, more about the two of them finding a home in each other than lust, but still Livy finds herself wanting another. Instead of tugging him down by his jacket and kissing him like she wants to, she leans up to press her lips to his cheek, then his jaw, before pulling back.

He’s smiling at her when she looks at him, and she finds herself grinning back. She might have lost her father, but she’s finding that she’s gained a much larger family than she ever imagined, and although the loss still stings, Livy knows that this group of people will help her heal, one mission at a time.


End file.
